


Better Than Movies

by bitsori



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Inspired by Music & Lyrics (2007), M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsori/pseuds/bitsori
Summary: “I feel like I've seen a discussion like this in a movie before,” Seungmin muses. “According to one character, a song's melody is like when you first see someone. It sticks with you, and sparks your interest. But it's the lyrics that make you fall in love, because they're the meaning. The lyrics tell the story—they're theunderstandingof the song.”Changbin gives him a look.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 124





	1. KIM SEUNGMIN

**Author's Note:**

> im not sure how i feel about this fic, not to mention my eyes kept glossing over when i was editing this. at this point i dont think i have anything left to do but toss it out into the world and just be done with it! nevertheless, i hope it's enjoyed for what it is.
> 
> this is largely inspired by, and somewhat even based on _music and lyrics (2007)_.

×××

“You're the lyricist they sent?”

Seungmin stands by the doorway, looking down at the man who opened the door for him. The latter is several inches shorter than him, but he's also built quite sturdily if the way his sleeves are hugging his arms is any indication. His stare is dark and sharp, but there's a certain tiredness behind them that's easily detectable. His wearing faded gray sweats, which is quite the contrast compared to Seungmin's pastel blue button up and pressed khakis.

“Yes.” Seungmin smiles despite his clipped tone, and he observes as the stranger's gaze gradually softens. “Seo Changbin-ssi?” he asks cautiously.

The man nods and opens the door wider, moving aside to make room for him to enter. Seungmin is honestly unsure what he's doing there and why he agreed to do this—and Changbin's body language tells him that he likely feels the same.

“My name is Kim Seungmin,” he politely introduces himself before stepping past the threshold and carefully talking his loafers off. “I guess you  _ can _ say I'm the lyricist they sent.”

  
  
  


Seungmin isn't really a lyricist, at least not by trade or occupation. What he is, is an employee at a specialised greeting card company where he spends his nine to five thinking of more imaginative ways to say ‘I love you’ and ‘Happy birthday’ – preferably in ways that rhyme.

Every day he wonders why he chose to get a BA in Creative Writing when he could have been more practical, but he supposes that it's at least a job that pays the bills.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, just shortly after he came back from his lunch break when his boss—the company's CEO, and not just his immediate mid-level superior—had approached his cubicle and promptly informed him, “I have a daughter.”

“Uh.” Seungmin blinked at him, understandably confused. Weeks could easily go by without him crossing paths with this man, and yet, for some reason he's standing in front of Seungmin, sharing random personal information. “Congratulations, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, laughing heartily—laughing in an amusing Santa-like manner—as he waved one hand dismissively. “She's turning sixteen in less than three months, and she really,  _ really _ wants to become a pop idol.”

“Well... good luck to her?” Seungmin had absolutely no idea where the conversation was headed, and he had little to no desire to steer it himself, but this man was the big boss, the head honcho, the end of the line; pointless conversations were to be had if he wanted them to be had.

“Your immediate supervisors tell me that you're really good with words,” the CEO continued, eyeing Seungmin curiously. “The best they currently have on roster.”

“Ah.” Seungmin was admittedly flattered, and he had never really been the type who was good at false humility so he smiled gratefully. “Thank you, sir. I guess you can say that... I can rhyme?”

“That's a start,” the man said, nodding agreeably. “A good start.”

He smiled, and then he left Seungmin's workspace, just like that, without further explanation—at least not until later that day when it was time for Seungmin to clock out and someone from Human Resources called out to him, and gave him instructions that came in the form of a piece of paper with a name and address.

_ Seo Changbin. _

The name was vaguely familiar.

  
  
  


It wasn't until Seungmin was on the train, on his way home, that he suddenly remembered who Seo Changbin was. The realisation was egged on by the huge poster for HAN JISUNG'S FIRST CONCERT SPECIAL!!! that he saw at the station before boarding the train. Everything fell into place after that and he soon pieced together that Changbin was once a part of a wannabe hip-hop trio that had a couple of middling hits when he was in high school, up to his early years at university. The only reason he knew them, though, was because his closest friend from high school, Jeongin, used to be obsessed with them.

“Jeongin kept blasting that one song they had when I was trying to study for suneung,” he muttered to himself when he searched them up on Naver.

He had to keep himself from laughing too loudly when he clicked on a link to the video result with the most views.

_ 3RACHA - Wow (LIVE), 1.2M Views, Uploaded 6 years ago. _

The performance was a little too earnestly heterosexual for Seungmin's liking, and he barely made it to the end. Just as well because as soon as he exited the video, he heard the train voiceover announcing that they were pulling into his train stop.

“I guess that's why they flopped and disbanded,” he muttered to himself while moving through the crowd. He supposed it wasn't that bad though, if one of them—Han Jisung, formerly known as J.One according to Naver—was about to hold a concert at Olympic Park in a couple of months.

  
  
  


“So, how is this going to work?”

Seungmin is confused at the question that Changbin poses, and he isn't shy about showing his bewilderment on his face.

“Why are you asking  _ me?” _ he returns with a wince. “Aren't you the big-time singer-songwriter here?”

Much to his surprise, Changbin actually snorts _. _ “Big time is a bit of a stretch, but thanks for trying to stroke my ego.”

“I wasn't,” Seungmin retorts immediately. “But you're the professional and I'm—I'm just a creative writing graduate who works at a greeting card company. As if people still buy greeting cards in this electronic age, but—” he shrugs. “I digress.”

Changbin blinks, and then he lets out another laugh. Frankly, the sound of his chortling gives Seungmin a bit of comfort—it's loud and almost obnoxious, but it makes Changbin appear friendlier than one's first impression of him would allow you to think.

“Okay then,” Changbin begins after he's able to gather himself together; he takes a deep breath and gestures at the baby grand piano in front of him. “Do you play?”

To be frank, Seungmin was a little surprised when Changbin had led him to the living room of his apartment and he had glimpsed the piano. From what he remembers of Changbin—of 3RACHA's music, it was mostly urban pop and hip hop adjacent; their songs also utilized heavy beats and a strong synth sound, and he doesn't remember any song that had more soft piano melodies.

“Uh.” Seungmin winces in response; he took piano lessons when he was a kid. From when he was seven years old until he was ten, which is when he quit and decided he'd rather be outside playing ball with friends. “A bit?”

Changbin scoots over and makes room beside him on the small piano bench, and Seungmin takes that as an invitation for him to take a seat. He tentatively takes it, plopping down beside Changbin and apprehensively pressing a key. Changbin smiles at him, and Seungmin sighs because it's been at least a decade since he played anything.

He doesn't remember his old piano teacher assuring him about his piano playing—he certainly doesn't think it's like riding a bike; that once you learn piano scales you don't forget them. Still, he positions his fingers over the ivory, and within seconds they're pounding on the keys—the only song he remembers,  _ Chopsticks. _

Changbin laughs again, and it lends Seungmin enough confidence to keep going at it. The next thing he knows, Changbin has joined him—much like he remembers his old piano teacher doing when he was a kid. Chopsticks is best as a duet after all, at least that's what he used to be told.

“So you  _ do _ play,” Changbin remarks with a cheeky grin after they're done.

“I had lessons when I was younger,” Seungmin feels like he has to explain.

Changbin nods, humming. “Me too.”

“I thought—uh. Your old music was completely different though.” Seungmin immediately feels silly as soon as the words come out of his mouth. Just because Changbin's old group—and Seungmin remembers now that Changbin used to go by a stage name then,  _ SpearB— _ created a different type of music, it didn't mean that Changbin's own musicality is limited.

“Oh? You know 3RACHA's music?” Changbin looks amused.

Seungmin chuckles. “My best friend was a fan—CB97 was his favorite.” That's a lie, because if memory serves him right, SpearB was definitely Jeongin’s favorite, but Seungmin isn't sure he should be stroking Changbin's ego just yet. “He almost screamed through the phone when I mentioned that I was going to meet you.”

“Ah, yeah?” Changbin grins. “That's cool. I can get him a signed poster from Channie-hyung, if he wants.”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Seungmin laughs some more. “Jeongin would love that.”

“So. Anyway.” Changbin looks at him as if trying to read him; Seungmin tilts his head, almost as if challenging him. “You're in charge of writing the lyrics, and I'm in charge of composing the music.”

“Right.” Seungmin nods slowly; this is still a very strange arrangement for him—but he's getting paid twice as much as his day job, so he's willing to jump through whatever hoops his boss wants him to. “I'm here to do what I'm being paid for.”

"Okay, good.” Changbin flashes him a thumb up.

"Right, good,” Seungmin echoes. “So how do we do this again?”

“I'm good with words too, you know,” is what Changbin answers instead as he petulantly pokes at some of the piano's black keys. Just minutes ago he'd seemed really personable and confident—almost cocky, even, and as if a switch has been ticked, he's acting like a baby. Seungmin is not sure if he should find it funny or annoying.

“Okay?” is all he can answer with.

“It's just that rhyming is stupid,” Changbin mutters, and this time Seungmin has to laugh.

  
  
  


It takes them three full days to write two and a half lines.

“This is hard,” Seungmin grumbles. “Songs are no greeting cards.”

Granted, Changbin had been quite distracting, always trying to get Seungmin to do something or other—like picking food out of a delivery menu, or asking his opinion on possible pointless buys like a set of calligraphy pens (“Do you even do calligraphy?”), or a 3-in-1 set of muscle tees in various colors (“Whatever, just add to cart so we can carry on!”).

Which is why it's extra rich of him when Changbin just snorts, and shakes his head at him. “Well this is why we're getting paid to do this.”

“I guess,” Seungmin sighs. “How did you get this gig anyway?”

“Apparently his daughter was a huge fan of ours back in the day,” Changbin answers. “And I'm pretty much the only one unemployed right now. Chan-hyung is a producer at JYP now, and Jisung, well—he's everywhere these days.”

Seungmin laughs; he very clearly remembers Jisung— _ J.One's _ posters at the train station. “I think I saw him on Running Man recently,” he offers.

“Anyway, I wrote a good chunk of our songs,” Changbin continues, ignoring Seungmin's statement about Running Man. “I composed a good amount of our melodies.”

Seungmin pauses, and considers his next words. “Weren't you—weren't you a rapper? Does that not entail writing your own lyrics?”

Changbin winces. “Yeah. I wrote all of my bars, but—" he exhales shakily, before shaking his head. Seungmin takes that to mean that he isn't particularly keen on sharing this part of his life with him just yet, so he decides to try and change the subject as a form of goodwill.

“I'm suddenly craving some jokbal,” he interjects. “You want to order?”

Changbin snorts, but the look of gratefulness that's reflected in his eyes is enough to make Seungmin smile at him.

“You're treating,” he adds, even as he takes out his phone to pull up his food app.

Changbin laughs, but he nods and gives him two thumbs up. “Can you order some from a place that serves tangsuyuk too?”

  
  
  


It takes them another week to finish four lines for the first stanza.

“Just throw together random words,” Changbin groans, sounding very frustrated. He has finally lent Seungmin his undivided attention over the last several days, but his patience at their lack of progress is clearly reaching it's limit.

Not that he's the only one. 

“It's not that easy,” Seungmin practically snaps at him, a little insulted. Despite being more experienced in the art of songwriting, Changbin is mostly the reason why they spent a good while being unproductive. Frankly, considering his normal temper, it's a wonder he's held together this long. “They have to mean something. They have to flow together.”

“But the melody takes care of the flow,” Changbin argues. “Music is universal. Words are just that, words. People will forget them, but remember the beat, the sound, the music.”

Seungmin stares at him, and tries not to completely snap at him or tell him off rudely. It isn't as if Changbin has made much progress on the composition either.

He sighs.

“Why do you need me here?” Seungmin asks. “You used to write your own rap bars and you rhymed just fine.”

Changbin winces. “It used to be easier,” he admits. “Rapping was less about trying to rhyme, and more about cheeky wordplay. I was good at that. Rhyming for a poppy love song?” His face contorts into an expression that tells Seungmin there's more to his story than he's letting on. 

“Look, if you want me to write, then let me write,” he points out. “Words mean  _ something.  _ I can't just force them.”

Changbin clicks his tongue disapprovingly and Seungmin narrows his eyes at him before letting out a sigh.

“I feel like I've seen a discussion like this in a movie before,” Seungmin muses. “According to one character, a song's melody is like when you first see someone. It sticks with you, and sparks your interest. But it's the lyrics that make you fall in love, because they're the meaning. The lyrics tell the story—they're the  _ understanding _ of the song.”

Changbin gives him a look.

“Well?” Seungmin returns the same look to him. “Personally, I agree, and that's probably why I'm here—to tell the story.”

Changbin just keeps looking at him.

“You're frustrating,” Seungmin grumbles, finally breaking eye contact so that he can look down at his notebook; this is when Changbin bursts out laughing.

“Don't sulk,” Changbin tells him. “I was just trying to figure out if I've seen this movie before.”

“I doubt it,” Seungmin says. “It's a romantic comedy. Do you like romantic comedies?”

Changbin laughs. “I've seen ‘200 Pounds of Beauty’ and ‘My Sassy Girl’ more than I'd care to admit,” he shares. “I grew up with an older sister.”

“Ah.” Seungmin looks up at Changbin again, noting the sweet, and almost bashful sincerity in his eyes. “Well this one was a Hollywood movie.”

“You like Hollywood movies?” Changbin asks him.

“They helped me with my English—” Seungmin shakes his head. “We're getting away from the point!”

“What  _ is _ the point?” Changbin asks, his tone teasing enough that Seungmin is unable to keep himself from releasing a frustrated groan.

“Are you always this insufferable?”

“You tell me, you've been working with me for a week.”

Seungmin huffs and picks up his pen. “I'm no longer participating in this discussion.”

Changbin laughs, poking at ivory keys before moving closer to Seungmin and elbowing.

“Words tell the story,” he murmurs. “Words make you fall in love,” he adds. “Don't worry. I got the point.”

  
  
  


Despite being the one to force themselves to move on past the topic, it's Seungmin who brings it up again a few hours later.

“I think our boss probably saw that movie,” he declares.

“What movie?” Changbin asks, looking like has absolutely no idea what Seungmin is talking about.

“The one I told you about earlier,” he says, trying to keep his exasperation at bay. “The Hollywood movie. It stars Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant.”

“Drew Barrymore is in the old Charlie's Angels, right?”

Seungmin frowns. “You're deviating from the point again.”

“Fine, fine tell me about your sappy romantic comedy,” Changbin teases.

“Shut up, you haven't even seen it,” Seungmin berates him. “And who cares if it's sappy! I'm trying to say that I think our boss saw it and decided to recreate it in real life."

“Okay, I'll bite,” Changbin says, finally looking like his curiosity has been piqued. “What is it about?”

“A girl works with an old washed-up singer to create a song,” Seungmin says matter-of-factly.

Changbin eyes him warily. “I'm not washed-up,” he says, and Seungmin has to laugh. Of all the things for Changbin to latch on to, it has to be that. “Nor are you a girl.”

Seungmin's laughter seems contagious though, because after barely a minute or so, Changbin is laughing as well.

“Yah. Don't fall for me,” is the first thing out of Changbin's mouth as soon as the laughter dies down, and they're left just grinning at each other in a silly way.

“I think that's another movie altogether, Changbin-ssi,” Seungmin shoots back without missing a beat.

  
  
  


Another week passes by and they're still short a chorus and a bridge. Seungmin is pretty sure that crafting a single song shouldn't take this long, and yet here they are.

He wonders why their boss and benefactor doesn't just buy a pop song from a pop factory—from the same music producers that drop idol hit songs one after another—but he doesn't voice this out because he's still getting paid after all.

Nevertheless, they let their employer hear what they have so far, and the only response they get is,

“Something is lacking with the melody. This is a love song, right? It doesn't sound like one.”

They go back to the drawing board, frustrated. Changbin is obviously trying to be a little optimistic, and he boldly makes suggestions about the words that Seungmin is writing.

“I give up,” Seungmin suddenly says, slamming his notebook shut. 

He doesn't know why or how his string snapped, but it did. This is too much time and too much work, and he feels cornered.

“What?!” Changbin is clearly surprised at his mini outburst; he stares at him incredulously.

“You're in charge of the sound, I'm in charge of the lyrics. You don't see me trying to horn in on your territory, do you?”

Changbin frowns. “That's not what I'm trying to do—”

“If you can write lyrics on your own then I'm not really needed here, am I?” Seungmin doesn't even let him finish speaking; he starts gathering good things and stuffing them in his bag. “I need time to think,” he declares, not really allowing Changbin to pull him back before stomping his way out the door.

  
  
  


An hour later, Seungmin returns, not really looking or feeling any happier, but rather just resigned.

Changbin is quick to offer him a plastic container, clearly delivered while Seungmin was out. “Bibimbap?”

Seungmin, who had spent the last hour quietly walking around with no other company other than his thoughts, is famished, so he doesn't hesitate to accept the food.

The two of them sit in silence for a while, food their lone excuse for not talking.

“You know, I don't really get love,” Seungmin suddenly says, at the exact same moment that Changbin chooses to break the ice with,

“I think I'm done.”

“Excuse me?” Seungmin gawks; he feels as if his revelation has somehow been trumped.

Changbin shakes his head and gestures for Seungmin to continue. “Your topic sounds like a more fun discussion,” he comments, glib, yet with a teasing grin.

Seungmin sighs, and considers passing the ball back, but eventually he relents.

“I don't get love,” Seungmin repeats. “It's stupid, and it's never like in the movies.”

He feels silly saying that out loud; he's a grown man, after all—at this point of his life, he should have an impression of love that's far removed from what movies portray, and yet he doesn't.

“Of course not,” Changbin laughs, but there's something bittersweet in expression. As if he knows—as if  _ he _ gets love a little too well. “They're movies,” he points out. “They're not real life.”

Seungmin hums, curious now. “You wrote a lot of the songs in the second 3RACHA album didn't you?” Their first and third albums had mostly been a mix of anti-establishment, stick it to the man kind of songs and angsty songs that told mostly about growing pains, but ever since revisiting their discography after meeting Changbin, Seungmin has realised that their sophomore release, the one sandwiched in between their more critically renowned albums, was softer—sweeter, even, with a sprinkling of songs that were clearly about romance. 

“That was our least performing album,” Changbin answers.

“So?” Seungmin snorts. “It was your best, but that's not even my point. I checked the credits, and you contributed a lot to it, lyrics and all.”

“That was then.” Changbin's expression tightens, and he looks away. 

“Don't tell me the person you wrote all those songs for broke your heart!” Seungmin means to be playful—means to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. Instead, the way Changbin winces alerts him that he just got a sensitive note, and the tension in the air right gets worse.

“More like—broke my heart, and broke my group apart,” Changbin mumbles softly. “Jisung—J.One and i wrote a lot of songs together for that album.”

“Oh!” Seungmin blinks. “So the two of you were…?”

“Huh?” Changbin looks alarmed when he follows Seungmin's train of thought. “Me and Jisung?” He snorts. “No fucking way! More like—the two of us were into the same dude. No wonder all our songs worked so well. We had the same person in mind for most of them.”

“Wow,” Seungmin near scoffs. He feels bad for Changbin, but at the same time, he's unsure how to react. He's usually very good with people—very good at reading the atmosphere and reacting accordingly, but the topic of love has always been his blind spot. “I take back what I said about love not being the same as they are in shitty romance movies, because that sounds like the plot for one.”

Changbin actually laughs, which should fill Seungmin with relief, but the dejection in the tone of his response does the exact opposite. 

“You can say that again.”

  
  
  


The next morning, when Seungmin arrives at Changbin's place for work, he finds him busy in his little home gym that Seungmin hadn't even realised was there before. Most of their days have been spent just in the living room, where Changbin's baby grand piano is set up.

“I'm here,” Seungmin announces, trying to sound as positive as he can. “Time to start making money!”

Changbin ignores him, instead muttering his repetition count under his breath as he lifts dumbbells. To be fair, exercising has clearly done him quite well; it's not the first time that Seungmin's gaze has fallen on his arms, but admittedly, with the way his biceps are curling now, it's the most mesmerized he's ever been.

“Changbin-ssi,” Seungmin calls for him again, his tone clipped. “It's time to finish the song.”

“You're always so formal,” Changbin retorts, finally pausing from what he’s doing. “Stop with the Changbin-ssi. Just call me hyung.”

Seungmin sighs. “You’re annoying,” he tells Changbin, but there isn't really that much annoyance in his tone. If anything, there’s a hint of sadness—but he secretly hopes that Changbin didn’t catch that.

  
  
  


It continues for a week.

Seungmin comes over, and Changbin lets him in, but he works on his own.

Changbin is always busy, but not really. If he isn’t putting his home gym equipment to good use, then he’s sprawling across his living room couch, starting movies on Netflix, but hardly finishing most of them.

He lets Seungmin regularly raid his fridge for lunch, and includes Seungmin whenever he orders in for dinner, but he doesn’t really offer any remarks on Seungmin’s actual purpose for being there. 

It isn't like it was at the beginning either, when Changbin's attempts at distraction involved Seungmin; when Changbin's ways of ignoring work involved little ways of getting to know Seungmin and his thoughts. This time Changbin just does as he pleases.

Sometimes, when they’re both in the living room and Changbin is just going through Netflix’s catalogue, Seungmin would make a show of putting his pen down, and then he would quietly stare at Changbin for around fifteen to twenty minutes. It’s a clear attempt at guilting Changbin into working on the song together again, but Changbin remains stubborn and refuses to budge.

Instead, he’d smile at Seungmin and ask if he wants to get coffee—or, occasionally, he would ask if Seungmin has seen a show he’s considering watching. Sometimes, he gets extra bold and would beckon for Seungmin to come over and sit with him on the couch so they can watch a movie together, but he always gives up easily, like he doesn't really care if Seungmin joins him or not.

Each time, Seungmin just grows more and more frustrated, so after a while he stops with his attempts and he just starts quietly working on his own.

One time, when Changbin is busy doing pull-ups in the next room, Seungmin gathers enough courage to lift the piano lid. He’s doing pretty well with the lyrics, he thinks, but he’s stuck. The words sound pretty when said out loud, but he can’t imagine them being sung.

He’s no composer, but he closes his eyes, tries to remember keys he learned as a young boy, and he starts to play short bits of melody.

“You trying to complete the song on your own now?” Changbin is suddenly standing by the doorway. 

Surprised, Seungmin freezes, and his hands drop onto his lap.

“I thought we were hired to write a happy, cheesy, potential hit love song,” Changbin says; there’s no malice in his tone, just an attempt at teasing that only serves to annoy him. And then he walks over and sits next to Seungmin. “That just sounds depressing,” Changbin adds, a cheeky grin curved on his lips.

Seungmin ignores him; he closes the piano lid and goes back to his writing notebook without another word.

  
  
  


At the end of the week, Seungmin stays as late as midnight. Changbin is in the kitchen, heating leftovers from that afternoon, when Seungmin approaches him and hands him a piece of paper.

“I finished the words,” he tells Changbin.

“What about the music?” Changbin asks.

Seungmin scoffs. “That’s your half of the work.”

They look at each other quietly for a few seconds. Changbin looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately, it’s Seungmin who breaks the silence. 

“Well,” he starts, “the boss wants the song by Monday. He says he'd like to produce his beloved daughter's music video before her actual birthday.”

Changbin doesn't say anything, and it’s very unlike him because he often has a stupid comment to offer, usually even two. That he has nothing to offer now causes Seungmin to let out a frustrated sigh. 

He doesn't want to care as much as he does, it's too late now. In the short time he has known Changbin, despite all the slacking and all the silly quips, it was quite easy to see through him—to see a wealth of potential that Seungmin can't help but be drawn to.

It's just too bad the Changbin seems bent on wasting all that potential away.

“Goodbye, Changbin-ssi. I might not know much about love, but at least I’m  _ trying. _ You—it’s like you’ve just given up.” Changbin looks up at him, a strange, pained expression mirrored in his eyes, and it both frustrates and hurts Seungmin more. “Sure, someone broke your heart a long time, ago, but that’s not enough reason to act like nothing really matters anymore. You should find something to love, hyung. It doesn't even have to be someone. Just find  _ something. _ Building arm muscles count, I guess, blindingly adding to your Netflix queue less so—but I hope you find something that means more.”

  
  


»


	2. SEO CHANGBIN

×××

Changbin sleeps in the day after Seungmin tears one into him—that isn’t new. Before Seungmin entered his life, he never even woke up before eleven in the morning. 

When he wakes up, there’s momentary panic when he glances at his clock and he sees that it’s past noon.  _ Shit, _ he thinks. Because Seungmin has probably already arrived. 

And then he remembers what happened the day before, and instead of relief at the realization that Seungmin won't be over, something sick settles the pit of his stomach. He forces himself out of bed anyway, and heads to his kitchen to prepare coffee for himself. 

When he passes through the living room, however, he spots Seungmin's writing notebook, neatly placed on top of the piano. He hesitates, but eventually he’s unable to help himself from picking it up and flipping through the pages.

There are pages upon pages of Seungmin’s messy scribble—pages of struck out words and messy annotations. And then he reaches the end, and there, he finds Seungmin’s finished product. Lines upon lines of pretty words that come from Seungmin’s heart.

‘FRAGMENT,’ is scrawled at the top of the page in big, block letters, and he assumes that's Seungmin's working title.

Changbin thinks he could get behind that; he likes it a lot.

“Fuck,” Changbin mumbles as he snaps the notebook shut. “I need to get out of the house.”

  
  
  


To be frank, Changbin had been pretty wary about accepting the composing offer. 

Some rich old bloke wanted to make an idol out of his young daughter, and he wanted Changbin to write her a song. It was clearly silly, and when Chan had brought the offer to him, he had been quick to say no.

It isn’t as if he’s strapped for cash. Even without his meager 3RACHA royalties, he’s doing pretty well; not only does he come from a family that’s well-off, he had discovered a few years back that he’s pretty good at playing the stock market.

But Chan had prodded, insisted, baited him by saying,  _ When was the last time you composed anything? _

Still, he doesn’t know what he had been expecting when he finally said yes. It certainly wasn’t a handsome, preppy looking young man to show up at his doorstep, announcing that he was going to be his lyricist.

Admittedly, he had a little crush from the get go—attraction is normal towards the Seungmins of the world. Handsome, amiable, determined – all very positive qualities that Changbin is drawn to.

And they had surprisingly worked pretty well together. Despite Seungmin’s tendency to nag, and despite Changbin’s tendency to slack – it was fun. Or maybe it was just fun, because Changbin got a kick out of pushing Seungmin’s buttons—either way, their weeks of working together had been pretty good.

And then their deadline started coming up, and Changbin somehow found himself backed into a corner, unsure how to make music— and the stress did nothing but make sure that too many repressed memories would resurface. 

He used to be able to write a song, easy, in the span of a day. And now he is where he is.

Lost, confused, and angry at himself for not being able to do what he used to do best.

  
  
  


_ What is love?  _

It's a question that he finds looping through his thoughts. He's supposed to write a love song, but how is he supposed to do that, when his own notion of the word has long been corrupted.

“Love is what you come home to,” Felix offers with a grin.

Desperate to get out of his apartment and get some fresh air, Changbin had ended up crashing Chan’s lunch date with his boyfriend, Felix. Lucky for him, neither of them seem annoyed – unsurprising, since Chan is the type who is never able to say no, while Felix has always been sunshine personified. 

Their conversation has somehow been steered into this direction, all because Changbin is unable to keep his thoughts in his own head.

“That’s so cheesy!” Chan comments, but he’s laughing and looking at Felix quite fondly anyway.

“Well can you do better?” Felix challenges.

Chan laughs some more. “Okay, honestly, Lixie’s kind of right," he admits. “But more than that… love. It just is.” He shrugs. “It makes you happy, it makes you sad—”

“And frustrated," Felix adds.

“I make you frustrated?” Chan gasps, but it’s obviously just him playing at faux surprise.

“Sometimes!” Felix chirps, nodding. “When you insist on paying for everything—or when I ask what you want to eat, and you just tell me that you want whatever I want.”

“You do that too, though!” Chan argues.

At this point, Changbin has to groan. He’s starting to regret this third-wheeling position he had put himself in. At least Chan seems to notice that they’re getting off topic, because he turns back to Changbin with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he apologises. “But anyway—yeah. Love. It just is. It’s a part of you in a lot of little ways that’s different for everyone, but ultimately… it’s the feeling that you come home to.”

Changbin nods slowly; he looks down at his food, and he pushes the meat around. What Chan and Felix are saying makes sense, but his chest still feels tight. It isn’t until Felix has to excuse himself to take a phone call relating to his work, that Chan tries to draw more out of Changbin.

“You’ve been thinking of Hyunjin again, haven’t you?”

Changbin cringes; just the mention of his ex-boyfriend’s name still has quite an effect on him. 

“It’s been a couple of years, Bin,” Chan tells him with a disapproving click of his tongue. “It’s time to move on from him. Jisung has, and so should you.”

“Well, that’s easy to say, when Jisung has always had Minho-hyung waiting in the wings,” Changbin comments, only to regret the petty words as soon as they leave his tongue.

“That’s not very nice,” Chan berates him. 

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“Minho isn’t the type to wait in the wings for anyone,” Chan adds.

“He did for Jisung.” He doesn’t feel bad this time, if only because his words are the truth.

“Okay, so you’re right, but you know Jisung was always just as into him,” Chan says.

“And yet he was so fucking mad when Hyunjin chose  _ me, _ ” Changbin points out; even now, he can feel bitterness rising in his chest from these memories. It’s why, for the longest time, he chose not to entertain them.

Chan groans. “Hyunjin isn’t even in either of your lives anymore, Bin. He’s studying overseas, but you’re still stuck on him.”

“He’s not—I’m not—” Changbin wants to explain that he’s over Hyunjin. Most days, he's sure that he really is – it's been two years since they broke up. For some reason though, thinking about his ex still hurts a lot.

“Either way, you had your chance together. Jisung  _ barely _ had his chance, but even he’s moved on. So should you.”

Changbin thinks that apart from finding solace in Minho, who was one of their backup dancers during their days as 3RACHA, Jisung has also been able to kickstart a pretty successful solo career. Of course he moved on.

He doesn’t say that out loud though, lest Chan scold him some more for his pettiness.

But also—Changbin knows that Chan is right. He  _ should _ move on. He has been given enough time to. The truth is that he’s just scared—Hyunjin was a big part of his life; Hyunjin was someone he gave so much of himself, and above all else, Hyunjin was someone he lost one of his best friends over.

If he moves on now—if he gets past Hyunjin, and he finally allows himself to forget and let go of his feelings, then that sacrifice will just feel like it was for naught. 

And yet, deep inside, he can feel his patched up heart clamoring for something else—can feel his patched up heart trying to let him know that it’s ready for more now.

  
  
  


Seungmin’s words echo in his head that night, as he sits in front of his piano.  _ You should find something to love, hyung. _

As much as it hurts, he finally allows himself to look back. And the more he does this, the more he realises that his issues don’t really lie with how Hyunjin left him, almost two years ago, so that he could build a future for himself overseas, separate from Changbin.

His issues lay with his own choices—with his own actions. 

In his mind, losing Hyunjin meant that he had lost his music for nothing. Losing Hyunjin had meant losing Jisung—and in turn, losing Chan, and the group, and his music. But that was a very juvenile way of thinking.

He had been the one to pull away from the group, guilty about breaking Jisung’s heart. He had won Hyunjin’s heart, so he thought that meant leaving music to Jisung—not that his old friend had ever asked it of him.

Losing music is what broke his heart, but that was  _ his  _ choice.

_ I hope you find something that means more,  _ Seungmin had also told him. __

His fingers slide over the ivory keys and he realises that he doesn’t really have to go looking for something he loves—for something  _ more. _ The most important thing to him has always just been waiting for him to come back to it.

Music wasn’t something that came to him with Hyunjin; nor was it something that came with Jisung and Chan. Music was always something he treasured, and he was the idiot who thought he had to give it up to punish himself.

“Fuck this, I really must have walked into some cheesy flick,” he mutters under his breath; he can’t help but let out a tired chuckle at his own realisation. 

But he takes out Seungmin’s notebook, and he opens it to the lyrics found in the last couple of pages. That night, he finishes composing the perfect melody that goes with it.

  
  
  


Chan is the one to set up the reunion with Jisung, after Changbin tells him that he’s ready. He takes himself out of the narrative, telling Changbin that “I see enough of the two of you. This is yours to fix.”

It turns out that there’s barely anything to fix; Jisung even bursts into tears when the two of them finally meet up, for the first time in almost three years. 

“Stop getting your gross slobbery tears all over me,” Changbin berates him, but even he’s tightening his hug around Jisung. He’s missed his best friend a lot more than he realised, he thinks. “You’re a fully grown man, why are you crying like this?”

It’s only then that Jisung pulls away, eyes red even as he furiously wipes his tears away. “You jerk,” he huffs, and Changbin relaxes with a smile.

“I missed you too, dumbass,” he admits. “And I’m sorry for everything.”

Jisung shakes his head and motions with his hand. “Bygones. Hyunjin left your sorry ass in the end anyway,” he comments; the words are harsh but there’s no bite to them.

Changbin is relieved even more when he realises they don’t have an effect on him either; in fact he even laughs. “You little shit,” he says, flicking Jisung on the forehead. 

Jisung grins cheekily, and he’s quite a funny sight with that expression considering his eyes are still bloodshot. “You gotta let me get a few digs in,” he says. “I owe you three years worth.”

Changbin snorts. “How’s Minho-hyung?”

Jisung’s expression softens and he smiles. It’s the type of smile brought on by fondness and contentment, and Changbin thinks he’s glad for his friend, even though he wishes he could have seen that contentment build and come to fruition himself. 

“He’s great,” Jisung says. “He says hi and to tell you that he thinks of you every time he looks at the moon. My boyfriend is the epitome of modern bromance, isn’t he?”

Changbin groans. “Your boyfriend is an ass.”

“Yes,” Jisung agrees. “He’s absolutely an ass man.”

Changbin pauses, stares, and then he bursts into laughter. He missed this—missed just messing around with his friend.

“Do you want to hear this song I finished?” he finds himself asking. “It’s just the topline, but I’d love to hear your opinion on it.”

“Yeah?” Jisung looks really excited. “I’d love to, hyung.”

  
  
  
  


“It's beautiful,” Seungmin tells him when Changbin plays for him the guide demo he recorded of their song. “I'm proud of you.”

They’re in his living room, seated in front of his piano, like what was normal for them for several weeks when they were working together. Changbin shrugs, trying to be nonchalant about the praise, but he can't really help the grin tugging at his lips. He’s always been the type to easily preen at any sort of compliment, but coming from Seungmin, it feels even better.

“I thought you were gonna continue moping around forever,” Seungmin continues, teasing.

“Nah, I’m really just a genius.” Changbin smirks.

Seungmin snorts. “Right. Okay.”

“But I'm glad you still came to hear it,” Changbin admits, his tone softer, and his demeanor apologetic. “Thank you. For a while I really thought I pissed you off forever."

“Well you're frustrating,” Seungmin retorts, a faint smile lining his lips. “But—” his breath hitches before he continues, “I actually like you.”

He laughs, but he also says it quite matter-of-factly, that Changbin can’t help but wonder if the words mean something deeper to Seungmin.

“I—” he wants to prod further, but he chickens out at the last second when Seungmin puts on a nonchalant expression. “I let Chan and Jisung hear the melody first,” he ends up saying instead. “They love it. They helped me record the demo, actually.”

“Oh?” Seungmin gives him an amused look. “You seem especially proud and happy about that.”

He laughs; he can’t help it. Seungmin is right because he  _ is _ extremely proud and happy – such is the result of having his best friend back in his life. Reconnecting with Jisung had been surprisingly easier than he’d anticipated, and Jisung crying—no,  _ sobbing _ when they finally reunited is a memory Changbin is sure to treasure if only because he knows he can use it as leverage against his old friend in the future.

“I am,” he admits to Seungmin. “I considered calling you for the recording but I had some things to fix with them. And I fixed them—so now if you want to go to Jisung’s upcoming concert, I have tickets. You can bring your friend—the one that was a 3RACHA fan.”

“Oh.” Seungmin laughs. “Okay, I’ll take it, if only because Innie would yell at me if I don’t.”

Changbin grins, and uncharacteristically at a loss for more words, he opts to play their song’s opening melody on the piano again.

“Hey Seungmin,” he murmurs, as an idea sparks in his head. “Would you sing?”

“What? Me?” Seungmin laughs like it's an absurd idea, but Changbin, for once, isn’t joking.

“Yeah! Come on, I’ve heard you sing before,” Changbin insists.

“What?” Seungmin looks confused. “When?”

“When you don’t think I’m listening,” Changbin says. “That week when you were, uh—working by yourself. In the kitchen when you would prepare lunch—there are times when you space out and start singing to yourself.”

“Those times don’t count!” Seungmin argues; his cheeks are a faint shade of red, however, and it makes Changbin grin.

“Well, if you sing our song it’ll count,” he presses.

_ “Our _ song?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it ours?”

“Last I checked it’s technically about to be a spoiled 17 year-old’s song, but—” Seungmin laughs. “Fine.”

Changbin’s fingers dance along the ivory keys of the piano once more, and the introductory memory of their song echoes around the room. Seungmin initially croaks when the first words come out of his mouth, but Changbin elbows him—flashes him an encouraging smile. So Seungmin continues to sing, confidence building upon every line; his pride means even more considering that the words are originally his.

Seungmin once said that lyrics are what truly makes you fall in love with a song, and Changbin thinks he can understand that.

Seungmin’s voice is warm, and it reminds Changbin of the kind of feeling that he expects when coming home.

  
  
  


“Wow, she was completely tone deaf,” Seungmin whispers to Changbin after they finish watching their employer’s daughter—the famed aspiring idol—that they've heard so much about in the last month, record their song.

“You're mean,” Changbin whispers back, elbowing him. He doesn’t know why they’re whispering when it’s just the two of them now in the recording booth. Maybe it’s the idea that someone might barge in, hear them and tell on them. Even he can’t help himself though, and he’s sniggering under his breath. “Don't be,” he adds, but he doesn't really sound that sincere about it. The girl was truly bad, and he isn’t sure that any amount of autotune can fix her off-key singing. 

“Being honest isn’t mean,” Seungmin states. “In fact, honesty is a virtue. You know what—maybe if 3RACHA was recording this song, then it’d be a hit.”

“3RACHA is dead,” Changbin jokes good-naturedly; he can say that now and laugh because he and Chan and Jisung have been talking about collaborating again, and Seungmin knows as much. “But hey, if the song actually becomes a hit even with her singing,” he continues, voice dripping with sarcasm, “then it'll show up on noraebang machines and we can sing it together then.”

“Wow and you call  _ me _ mean,” Seungmin clicks his tongue.

“But you like me anyway,” Changbin teases, throwing Seungmin’s own words back at him; they’re from days ago, but they’re still fresh in his mind.

“And sometimes, I have no idea why,” Seungmin retorts with a laugh. That he doesn’t deny it at all makes something bloom in Changbin’s heart.

He smiles. “How about the next song we write, we actually sing together?"

“Wow, it turns out that you’re the one who’s a complete sucker for cheesy romantic comedies, huh?” Seungmin grins.

“Grew up with an older sister, remember?”

Seungmin laughs, and Changbin grins; he’s learned that he really enjoys it when he makes Seungmin laugh.

“You know—” Seungmin starts.

“I know a lot of things,” Changbin interrupts, grinning as he wags his eyebrows.

Seungmin groans. “You know you should shut up,” he tries again, “because if you don’t kiss me now the opportunity may never come again.”

Changbin is taken aback initially, because those are the last words he would have expected to hear from Seungmin, but he finds he doesn’t mind them. Even more so when he realises that Seungmin is averting his gaze, shy because he means what he said in earnest.

“Oh, you want me to kiss you?”

Seungmin shrugs, the apples of his cheeks red.

Changbin laughs and he doesn’t hesitate to lean in, hand cupping Seungmin’s warm face gently. He pauses for a second, looking into Seungmin’s eyes and half expecting him to pull away—or tell him it’s a joke, but he doesn’t. He looks right into Changbin’s eyes, and his breath hitches, and it’s how Changbin is sure.

He leans in, presses their lips together. They kiss, slowly, surely, and it feels like those happily ever afters in those stupid movies. 

But better, he thinks, because it's real life.

  
  
  


∆

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading up to here! feedback, as always, is much appreciated.  
> [TWT](http://twitter.com/hanmings) && [CC](http://curiouscat.me/yiminho)


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